by Harper Bliss
That morning, she hadn’t come into work intending to quit. It had just been another dreary commute leading into a dreary, frustrating day. Until she realized, as she glanced over the number of e-mails in her inbox—most of them from her immediate boss—that she’d had enough. The joy she used to experience when working had slowly seeped out of her until every little thing had become a massive chore. It had taken a while, but that day, it really was as easy to sum up as that: Kristin had had enough.
She hadn’t discussed her decision with Sheryl. She hadn’t had time. It was a spur-of-the-moment kind of thing. A quick decision that would change the rest of her life—or at the very least her immediate future. No more ten-hour days. No more ten-minute lunch breaks in front of her computer, always catching up. She was done. Kristin suspected Sheryl would be pleased. She found her phone—that other torture device aside from her desktop computer at work and her laptop at home—and dialed Sheryl’s number.
“Hey, babe,” Sheryl said. Kristin heard chatter around her. “How’s your day?” She sounded chirpy already.
“I quit,” Kristin said.
Silence, then after a beat, “You what?”
“I quit my job, babe. I’ve had enough.”
“Crikey.” Sheryl was silent again for a few long seconds. “About time, I guess.”
Kristin could barely make out what she said over the background noise. “Where are you?” It was the middle of the afternoon.
“The Flying Pig,” Sheryl said. “I just popped off campus for a little breather.”
Going by the noise, Kristin suspected it was a rowdy student pub. It wasn’t hard to guess what Sheryl was doing there in the middle of the day. A fleeting thought passed through Kristin’s mind: at least she didn’t lie about it. As if that was something she should be happy about, something to cling to.
“When will you be home?” Kristin asked.
“When will you be home?” Sheryl countered.
“Five,” Kristin said. “On the dot.”
“I look forward to it already, baby.”
Kristin hung up, scanned her office. As a place of hiding, it had served her well over the years. Now it was time to face the music.
“I had an extra drink in your honor,” Sheryl said, her words so thick they were barely pronounced. “This is great news.”
“I wish you’d waited for me to have that drink with.” Kristin tried to put her annoyance aside. It wasn’t Sheryl’s habit to come home in a state like this, at least not as far as Kristin knew. She wanted to celebrate, not nag her partner.
“We’ll have it now.” Sheryl was already ambling to the fridge. “I think there’s a bottle of champagne in there.”
“How about I make us some food instead?” Kristin crossed the distance to the kitchen twice as fast as Sheryl. “We’ll have that drink together another time.”
“But… but, you quit your job. You’re free, babe. We have to celebrate.”
“You’re drunk, Sheryl. It’s five in the afternoon and you’re absolutely hammered.” Kristin turned her face away from the nauseating smell of Sheryl’s breath.
Sheryl held up her hands, swaying. “I admit, I might be a little tipsy. That’s all.”
“Your definition of tipsy is very different from mine then.” Kristin took a step closer to the fridge and leaned against it.
“I’m sorry.” Sheryl seemed to deflate in front of Kristin’s eyes. Fatigue washed over her face. Her limbs went soft. “I’m sorry.” She sagged against a kitchen cabinet. “I truly am.”
Kristin walked over to Sheryl and took her in her arms, her heart breaking a little. There could truly only be one reason for Sheryl’s drinking. She must be suffering. And Kristin had been too busy to see it. Or no, she’d seen it, but she’d been too busy to do anything about it. To even talk to Sheryl about it. She’d figured Sheryl would correct herself along the way. She was a smart woman—she was a professor for crying out loud. But then, as they stood there in their kitchen, on the day Kristin quit her job and left her old life behind, she realized she should have done more. How else could a woman like Sheryl have strayed from her principles so much?
“We’ll talk tomorrow,” Kristin whispered in Sheryl’s ear. “Everything will be all right.”
Chapter Eighteen
Sheryl woke with a start, like someone had pushed a button and flicked her brain wide awake. No sooner had she opened her eyes than her head began to throb in tune with her violent heartbeat. Slowly, she turned her head and looked at the alarm clock: 3:21. She turned her head to the other side. Kristin wasn’t there. Instant paranoia took over. Sheryl sat up straight, causing a dizzy spell to rip through her. She racked her brain. Did Kristin have to go away for work? Wait. Had she really said she’d quit her job last night?
As dreadful as the moment of trying to scramble memories together was, it was nowhere near as excruciating as the one that followed. The one during which she was engulfed with shame. With the bitter taste of her own failure—once again.
Sheryl swung her legs out of bed and went in search of Kristin. She wasn’t in the spare room, where she sometimes ended up when Sheryl snored too loudly. Sheryl headed downstairs and found Kristin asleep on the sofa, the TV still on.
She looked at Kristin as she stitched last night’s memories together. The call at the bar. The walk home. Kristin’s disappointment at the sight of her. The collapse in her arms. Nothing after that. Sheryl’s tongue stuck to the roof of her mouth. The inside of her skull felt like someone was taking a jackhammer to it, adamant to make it through the thick bone. How had she ended up at The Flying Pig again? She had no idea. The reason usually disappeared. The reason for this embarrassment. For having her partner retreat to an uncomfortable sofa to sleep on. For that spark in Kristin’s eyes to dim so swiftly at the sight of her.
Through the muddiness of her brain, and because she had no choice—because she always needed something to cling on to during those desperate moments in the middle of the night—the thought formed that things would be different now. Kristin had quit her job. Just like that. She hadn’t even discussed it with Sheryl. The furthest they got in discussions about Kristin’s job was how her ridiculous hours influenced their relationship, but Kristin was always careful not to promise something she couldn’t deliver, not even in her personal life, hence she had never actually made Sheryl any promises. For a long time, guilt had eaten at Sheryl for not wanting to move to Hong Kong, for nipping that dream in the bud before it even had a chance to bloom, despite knowing, more than anything else, that it was the right thing to do for their relationship.
Things could truly be different from then on.
She pondered waking up Kristin and asking her to come to bed, but she figured she’d be better off with uninterrupted sleep.
She went into the kitchen and drank water straight from the faucet, eagerly gulping it up, and remembered an image of her father when she’d walked into the kitchen as a girl in the middle of the night. He’d stood there, his neck craned awkwardly toward the sink, trying to get as much water into his mouth as he could—trying to quench a thirst that would never go away.
For the past fifteen years, mornings had been a mad scramble to get out of the house. Sheryl could walk to the university from the house they’d bought ten years ago in Camperdown, whereas Kristin had to negotiate her way through early morning traffic in Sydney. Which, most of the time, meant that Kristin rose first and, by the time she was ready to leave, Sheryl’s eyes only began to flutter open.
That morning was different, because Kristin had quit her job. Last night, after putting Sheryl to bed, she hadn’t been able to sleep. Not only because of Sheryl’s heavy breathing, but because of the decision she had made to just stop working. Her parents would never understand, though Kristin would tell them that weekend. She wasn’t the type to keep secrets from them, not anymore.
She would still go into the office, but when she struck things off her to-do list, they would not be replaced by n
ew tasks. She would be working toward the end. It was a strange sensation, a bit like taking her very last exams at university. Relief mixed with uncertainty. Whatever would come next?
Kristin had already polished off three cups of coffee by the time Sheryl came downstairs in an old robe that hung off her weary-looking limbs.
“Morning,” Sheryl mumbled. Her facial expression resembled a puppy’s who had been told off for an accident on the carpet. It was almost more than Kristin could bear. “You’re still here.”
“It’s strictly nine to five for me from now on.” Kristin rose from her chair at the kitchen table and slung her arms around Sheryl’s neck. “How are you feeling?”
“My hair hurts.” Sheryl cracked a tiny smile, showing a glimpse of the woman Kristin had fallen for so quickly years ago. “I’m sorry about last night. If I’d known…”
“We have all weekend to celebrate.”
“The fact that your pending unemployment is cause for celebration really says it all.” Sheryl curled her arms around Kristin’s waist and pulled her close.
“I know.” Kristin put her head on Sheryl’s shoulder. “I should have discussed it with you before pulling the plug like that.”
“I’m just glad you finally made the decision.” Kristin tried to detect passive-aggression in Sheryl’s tone, but she only heard fatigue.
They broke from their hug. Kristin poured Sheryl a cup of coffee and they sat down for breakfast on a weekday morning for the first time in months.
“I could get used to this,” Sheryl said and started buttering a slice of toast, then applied a thin layer of Vegemite. Kristin had been born and bred in Australia, but Vegemite had never been a staple in the Park house, and still, after all the years of living with Sheryl, the smell of it made her nose curl up in mild disgust.
“I’ll still be going into the office for the next four weeks and do my job as usual,” she said, “but I know all hell won’t break loose if I don’t get to the office before everyone else. It wasn’t a huge epiphany, just a decision very long in the making. Sterling Wines hasn’t been the same since it was bought up. It took me long enough to realize how unhappy the job was making me, but now that I have, I have zero regrets.”
“So what’s the plan?” Sheryl leaned back, cradling a refilled coffee mug in her hands. “The reinvention of Kristin Park?”
“I honestly have no idea.” Not having a clue was a little scary. Her future a blank canvas. But it was also exciting and full of promise. “I’ve had enough of marketing for a while. I’ve had enough of corporations and overtime and younger colleagues whose sloppy work gets tolerated.”
Sheryl scrunched her lips together before saying, “No more sexy business suits for you?”
“I can still wear them around the house if it makes you happy?”
“It doesn’t matter what you wear around the house, babe, as long as you are in the house.”
“How schmaltzy,” Kristin said, even though she felt herself go a little warm on the inside.
Sheryl just shrugged and fixed her with a smile.
“I suppose I could become a domestic goddess,” Kristin said.
“Who am I to object to that?” Sheryl sipped from her coffee. “You can lick spoons like Nigella all day long. And keep making damn fine coffee like this.”
Kristin chuckled. “Like this, you mean?” She picked up the teaspoon from the jam jar and slid the tip of her tongue up and down the handle.
“Have you seen Nigella do it?” Sheryl held out her hand. “It’s more something like this.” Slowly, she dragged her tongue over the hollow of the spoon, sucked it into her mouth and made it come out with a loud smack.
Kristin laughed, then said, “Koreans are more gentle spoon lickers, I guess.”
They both broke out into more laughter. Then Kristin witnessed how Sheryl’s face went serious again.
“I’m truly sorry about yesterday.” She put her hand to her chest a little overdramatically. “I swear to you, I won’t come home like that ever again.”
“You had a bit too much. It’s no big deal.” Although it was a much bigger deal than Kristin was making of it, she didn’t want to make Sheryl feel even worse than she already did.
“I don’t go to the pub that much, but when I do go, time seems to slip away from me.” A silence. “Do you remember how I used to be able to just have one glass?” Sheryl shook her head. “I seem to have lost that special ability entirely.”
“You’ll get it back.” Kristin put her hand on Sheryl’s.
“I don’t want to be like him. It’s the very last thing I want.” Sheryl’s voice was low but determined.
Kristin instinctively knew who Sheryl meant, even though they hadn’t talked about her father in a very long time. “You’re nothing like him at all.”
Chapter Nineteen
“I really should stop drinking,” Sheryl said, as she poured herself and Kristin another glass of wine.
“Good start.” Kristin picked up her glass. She had been away from Sterling Wines long enough to not automatically think about her former job anymore every time she had a drink.
“You know what I mean.” Sheryl just stared at her glass.
“Not really.” After so many years together, Kristin guessed they had both picked up the habit of assuming they always knew what the other meant without having to spell it out. Perhaps on some level, this did happen, but Kristin failed to truly comprehend what Sheryl meant. Because she never pushed when it came to Sheryl drinking too much. It was an uncomfortable area to venture into, a topic so entangled with memories and scars, Kristin didn’t even know where to begin.
“I don’t want to become an alcoholic,” Sheryl said. Always the same phrase. Like a statement, a declaration of intent. Except the words were so hollow they didn’t mean anything to Kristin. Possibly because Sheryl only spoke them when she’d already had too much.
“You are not and will never become an alcoholic.” Kristin sipped from her wine, on the verge of feeling guilty for enjoying its aroma. Sheryl had a way of spoiling the pleasure she took in the very moderate amount of alcohol she consumed.
Sheryl had worked from home and Kristin hadn’t been able to figure out what to do with herself all day, aimlessly wandering through the house and tidying up every stray object she came across. She’d been without a job for a month, and it was beginning to make her restless. Kristin had never been without a job or clear purpose before.
“I think I’m well on the way.” Sheryl didn’t let up.
Kristin had a choice. She could let Sheryl go through her usual spiel and endure five more minutes of her feeling sorry for herself for being the alcoholic she wasn’t really, or do the thing she never did: call her out on it. Sheryl had spent more time outside of her home office than in, and annoyed Kristin every time she ventured into the living room, unwashed in a scraggly T-shirt she’d owned since they had met.
“I really wish you would stop saying that.” Some of the irritation she’d amassed over the course of the day had seeped into Kristin’s tone of voice.
Sheryl quirked up her eyebrows. “Someone’s a bit snippy.” With that, she tipped the glass of wine to her lips and took a large gulp.
I’m not snippy, Kristin thought, I’m aimless. She made a point of not taking it out further on Sheryl. This, however, didn’t mean they shouldn’t have the conversation they never had. “I know you have this strange notion that one day you will turn into a drunk because your father was one—”
“Is one,” Sheryl corrected.
Kristin went on, unperturbed. “I understand it makes you wary, makes you feel a little guilty even, every time you have a drink. But it doesn’t make you an alcoholic. Alcoholics are addicts and you are not an addict, babe.”
Sheryl sighed that particular sigh that usually indicated she was about done with a topic. As though what she really needed to assuage the guilt and shame that came with having a drink, was to acknowledge her fear out loud.
“I
just… feel like it influences my life more than it should. And that, over the years, I’ve started to drink more and more. I used to not drink at all, then just one glass when we were out with friends, and look at me now. Drinking on the patio with you. Going to The Flying Pig in the middle of the afternoon. Opening a bottle when I’m home alone. I feel like it’s escalating and there’s nothing I can do about it.”
Kristin sat up a little straighter. “If it bothers you so much, then maybe you should try stopping, or at least drinking less. You know you have my full support.”
“That’s just the thing.” Another sigh. “The thought of doing so scares the shit out of me.”
“Why?”
“Because it’s hard. Because alcohol is everywhere. Because a beer after a long day at work is about the most divine thing there is.” She shrugged. “So many reasons.”
“You didn’t drink for the longest time, remember? Why would it be so different now?”
“Because I feel like I crossed a line that can’t be uncrossed. Once I started drinking more, I realized how that very first sip, and the comfort of a near-full glass in front of me, made me feel so much more alive and at ease and full of possibility. In that respect, I do feel like I’m an addict. So much so that I’ve begun to understand my father, the man who let me down so much. I get it. And as it turns out, I’m not like you. I can’t just have two or three and stop. My ability to do so is out of the window after that first glass.”